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Poem

She was the coolest chick I never knew,
with hair of black and eyes of blue;
like, I'd watch her as the sun set down,
she held the breath of the whole damn town.

Now, incarcerated, I know the shadows are fast comin' down,
and I can see the strip lights growin' dim;
the fact she split, I cannot get my head around,
or the fact the winter nights are drawin' in.

All I seem to do is smoke and dream of wine,
or sit around clingin' to relics, servin' my time;
I cannot shut down the thoughts rattlin' thru' my mind:
those ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine.

It's not as though she much looked my way
or that I could think of a single word to say to her;
all I did was watch her walkin', cool as jazz, in the street;
her smiles, her gigs, were never for me, yet they blew me off my feet, man.

So, one day, anyhow, she just upped and moved away from town;
I cannot forget, or believe, how much I missed her, how it broke me down.
She never knew I existed, I guess, never gave me a first, let alone a second glance;
in her world, in her eyes, losers like me don't stand a chance.

I celebrated my love for her that night in a drunken shotgun roar;
high on T. Bird, low on brains, I hit the local liquor store.

So why now do I smoke these murderin' cigarettes and dream of lousy, bitter wine?
Why do I sit like some burned-out zombie, servin' my time?
And why, after all these years, am I still haunted by the ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine.

They say it's better to have loved and lost…
I say,
drop dead, 'cos
you know nothin'.

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